"Mr. Koenig, it may not be the most pertinent of matters at this point, but I am somewhat conflicted, as are the rest of my colleagues, about your bizarre social networking habits. As an official government contractor, you have been warned against devising prompts or posts on the extranet that many might see as noticeably partisan or inflammatory. Yet, as this brief post history shows, you have not been following those guidelines."
Sen. McCullough, UNAS
"Honestly Senator, I really don't think-,"
Erich Koenig, CEO – Chimera
"—Let me interrupt you for a moment, here, if I may. Because some of these posts are alarming at best. I quote, 'Why are we letting turians run freely around our cities? The government should be protecting us from those spiny rapists.' Unquote. I'm fairly concerned that you, the CEO of a private military corporation, is insinuating that all turians are 'spiny rapists' in a single, unprompted snippet. I'm just curious, what exactly motivated you to make that association about turians in the first place?"
Sen. McCullough, UNAS
"Senator, that quote was taken entirely out of context—"
Erich Koenig, CEO – Chimera
"—Here are some more examples from your library emphasizing that there is a clear pattern to your posting that does not require additional context to conceive: 'It's unnatural that the asari have this ability to corrupt the minds of humans in this day and age. Their practicing in their unsophisticated ways should be restricted immediately. Ban all asari from human establishments!' 'I'm getting tired of having to listen to all these fucking salarians talk. Fucking speak normally, for fuck's sake!' Mr. Koenig, not only are these statements provocative and dangerous, they are also representative of a closed mind. Furthermore, you offer nothing in the way of solutions when you make these suppositions in the first place. You're only broadcasting unintelligent bigotry."
Sen. McCullough, UNAS
"Bigotry is in the eye of the beholder, Senator."
Erich Koenig, CEO – Chimera
"Mr. Koenig, try to refrain from making nonsensical statements."
Sen. McCullough, UNAS
Berlin, European Union
The city. A grid of concrete canyons spiraling out of control, following pathways derived centuries ago. Landlocked and painfully stubborn routes funneling life through a calculated and intricate artificial heart all in service of the car, an outdated relic that amazingly still held relevance today.
But as the city grew, the car remained less and less viable as a means of transportation. Roads became congested, impossible to traverse. The more bodies that inhabited the city, the more vehicles supplanted themselves to the road. Berliners had long tried to mitigate this growing infestation by doubling down on alternate modes: the train, the bike, or by walking. Sooner or later, such staunch progress would reach the end limit of their returns, forcing the infrastructure to be continually modified to serve the car, to surrender to the car.
It was this effect that was impacting Admiral Steven Hackett right at this moment.
Stuffed into the back of a military-issued sedan, Hackett grumbled in what had to be the twelfth time in ten minutes that traffic was particularly worse today than usual in Berlin. While traveling in the middle of downtown Berlin was always a nightmare at any time of the day, it seemed especially bad right now because ever since he had set off from his starting point, Hackett had done nothing but sit in start-stop traffic for at least half an hour. He was not the one driving the sedan—being an Admiral meant that he had a driver ferry him around all the time—but the constant shifts in movement were beginning to make Hackett sick. Now was one of those times where he actually missed driving a vehicle himself.
How long had it been since he had actually been behind a wheel? Ten years? Twenty? Time eluded Hackett as he got older.
It was a bright and sunny day in Berlin, although Hackett could not tell from where he was. All of the roads in the city, and in most European cities, were double-decker—the uppermost level being an express route with the lower level corresponding to the surface access. Hackett's vehicle was on the lower level, draping him in a constant blanket of shadow, preventing him from seeing the sky.
Had his destination been a little outside the city, Hackett would have opted to take a shuttle, or something that could actually fly. Unfortunately, because of the government's tendency to cling to old buildings that had been built so many years ago without a single thought to the miraculous wonder of flying vehicles, the only way into the city was by a traditional four-wheeled car.
Not to mention that Berlin was mostly intact after the war ended, Hackett thought sourly. That was why the Alliance had chosen this city as the newest site to base their government—the infrastructure that had still been standing enabled reconstruction efforts to be completed rapidly, which helped in the restoration of a working civilization without any severe gaps in governance. But the outdated architecture of the city was not so conducive to the rapid technological improvements that had been made in the past century, preventing such conveniences such as shuttle service from being viable in a place like this. What a shame.
The car jerked again and Hackett lurched forward uncomfortably. The driver had been apologizing for the erratic starts and stops since they had set off, but Hackett knew it was not his fault. Something was holding up the queue, judging by the sea of red lights stretching on endlessly down the avenue, warping the darkened tier with a crimson hue.
Hackett frowned as he tried to settle in once again into the plush interior of the sedan. Half an hour wasted. Had he known it would have taken this long, he would have just walked. Hell, he could have rented a bike. His destination had only been a little more than two miles away from the intelligence building near the main rail station where he had initially set off. But the security agencies responsible for escorting important government figures, like Hackett, did not like to have admirals just walking out and about in broad daylight—they felt that was an open invitation for a bevy of risks to fall upon them. So, Hackett was stuck in this car, relegated to sitting on his ass and letting the world pass him by, trapped in the queue.
The car itself, a BMW FC780 (Fuel Cell), was stocked well, but Hackett did not partake in any of the amenities, which included a vidscreen in the rear headrest, a small refrigerator in the middle seat, and massaging seats. Hackett was used to the Spartan mindset that had accompanied every single military vessel that he had ever set foot on. Minimalist trappings and uncomfortable seats had been part of his livelihood since the beginning. This car was like a swanky resort compared to his quarters on a standard Alliance frigate.
As the car finally crept forward to turn on another road, the driver angled his head back and announced that their destination was within sight.
Finally, Hackett thought, but he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to be rude.
The route they had taken from the intelligence building had been a convoluted one to begin with, mostly because the reports that the security group had been getting was that there was some sort of public demonstration blocking all the normal routes. The details of the demonstration were a little vague to Hackett as no one could tell him exactly what was going on, but the usual route had to be altered slightly to accommodate the detours.
A lot of good that did, Hackett mused.
"We're coming up on that demonstration now, Admiral," the driver announced from the front. "Do you want me to turn on the lights?"
The vehicle had the usual assortment of police lights that could be activated to clear out the traffic in times of need, but the security staff did not like using them in cities as they thought it drew too much attention to the car in question. Besides, what good would the lights do right now? Every single lane of traffic was bumper-to-bumper. No wiggle room whatsoever.
"No need," Hackett responded as he settled into his seat in the back. "It'll only be another five minutes. The car has bulletproof windows, so there's no danger."
The car passed a large shopping center before it entered Potsdam Square, a relatively wide open area that was full of trendy stores and places for people to hang out.
It was also a good place to hold a protest, as Hackett could see as his vehicle approached, because every inch of the sidewalks in front of the stores in the square were packed head to toe with people of all shapes and sizes. Human. Turian. Asari. Hackett even spotted a quarian in the melee.
Diversity in action. The entire spectrum of color and species all churning in a chorus of discombobulated voices, crying and aching in a throbbing tempo.
Hackett leaned forward, concentrating onto the chanting that the protestors were reciting. He was struck at the sheer differences between the people in the crowd. Even after the show of unity devised from all the species during the Reaper War, it always gave Hackett pause whenever he saw such open displays of acceptance, completely disregarding their incongruent origins.
Different though the people might be, one thing they all had in common, the one thing that clearly kept them together, was that they were undoubtedly pissed off.
German police officers were standing by, having cordoned off the sidewalks from the roads with holographic barriers, but otherwise the actual protest was not progressing violently (Hackett was pleased at the show of solidarity). What the people were doing, aside from raising a whole lot of noise, was simply standing in place, raising their handmade signs proudly while shouting their impassioned chants for change.
"What are they protesting?" Hackett asked the driver.
"Military privatization," the driver curtly answered. "They're a bit peeved at the amount of collateral damage PMCs have been doing and are calling for more government oversight."
"PMC protest, eh? Well, the senatorial building is a good place to start. These people wouldn't happen to be protesting at Chimera's headquarters on the other side of the city as well, right?"
"They certainly are, sir. Alliance Intelligence is reporting that an ever larger protest has spilled out into the streets in front of Chimera HQ. Road access is completely cut off over there."
"How have the protestors been behaving?"
"As far as I've heard, quite calmly. Berlin Police has reported no injuries, no signs of property damage."
"I'll be damned," Hackett murmured in admiration as he leaned near the window to read some of the signs.
One read, HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?
RACISM HURTS US ALL, another projected.
SAME SHIT, DIFFERENT CENTURY
I HATE CROWDS BUT I HATE RACISTS MORE
THE ONLY PERSON I WANT FUCKING ME IS MY TURIAN WIFE
I'M MISSING THE WORLD CUP FOR THIS PROTEST, YOU ASSHOLES!
The creative billboards went on and on down the block. Hackett leaned back so that no one from the crowd could see him smiling, despite the tinted windows. Regardless of how this protest was a true representation of the public, he was proud of the fact that everyone was flexing their natural right to dissent the government's usage of hiring PMCs. Hackett held no love for Chimera at all. He felt that they were all a bunch of thugs that were loyal to only their mission and not beholden to the bigger picture that the Alliance was trying to uphold: win the hearts and minds of the citizens. If it were up to him, he'd rip up the contract the Alliance made with the corporation in a heartbeat. He also was in agreement that Chimera had simply killed too many innocent civilians to justify its existence as the Alliance's hired defenders. They had now unintentionally become its attack dog. And the observant members of the public were mad as hell about that.
After all, what sort of foe were they fighting now that justified the use of an attack dog in the first place?
If he were not in the service, Hackett would almost certainly have joined the crowd in the plaza, or at least have given an endorsement of some kind. However, his rank did not behoove him to take such a staunch sectarian line when the protocol was for him to lack the appearance of any bias. As it was, Hackett gave an unseen nod to the protesters, one of admiration, as the car finally inched out of the single lane of traffic and entered a court next to a very old, but very impressive, building.
"We're here, sir," the driver said.
Hackett had shouldered open the door while the driver had been mid-sentence, despite the fact that it was usually the courtesy of the driver to open the door for Hackett. But Hackett had spent too much time cooped up in the back of that car. He was not about to waste any more time if he could help it.
The Bundesrat building was a remnant of the old German republic, stagnant as the roots of modernization were built up around it. It remained a symbol of power and progress in the three centuries since it had been built, the home of the Alliance's senators. Skyscrapers boxed the building in on the left and the right, keeping the sun away, but the Bundesrat was an imposing specimen on its own, taking inspirational cues from both British and Greek heritages in its architecture.
Hackett swiftly pushed his way through the entrance, easily shouldering aside the heavy oak doors. There was no receptionist inside to confirm if he had an appointment—security scanners had been built into the walls to ease any foot traffic and to expedite the overall process. Thick, tan stone, polished to a gleaming sheen, covered the floor, the columns, and even the steps of the stairway right in front of him. His heels made a loud clacking sound that had a wet echo to it—stone was great at keeping such sounds alive.
Security guards, all in Alliance outfits, roamed the halls but none stopped to check Hackett. The admiral's insignia upon his cap and chest most likely had some part to play in that. Hackett quickly ascended the stairs to the second floor and hooked an immediate right, making his way into a long hallway where all the doors looked the same. That had been a deliberate choice from the original architects, to make sure that the people working in this building were all on equal footing. Hackett knew which door he was headed to, having memorized the number beforehand. He did not have to stop to consult a map or accost a guard for directions.
And it was right… here.
Hackett made sure to maximize the amount of noise he made ever since the moment he turned the heavy brass doorknob, to emphasize the anger that he was now allowing to show its face. Being trapped in the traffic had allowed him a great deal of time to let his rage simmer. The interior of the office was partitioned by a secretary's desk, where a rather gaunt woman with gray streaks in her hair was sitting, staring blankly at a console screen. Hackett could spot the door to the actual office beyond, knowing that the person he sought was still inside.
The secretary opened her mouth at first, perhaps to momentarily give Hackett pause, but she did nothing as soon as her eyes recognized Hackett's face before she took note of the man's insignia. Giving a meek blink, the secretary slowly slunk her eyes back over to her screen, an indication to Hackett that he had the authority to do whatever he felt like around here.
That was good, because Hackett was in no mood for such petty games.
He barged into the office noisily, causing the old-fashioned wooden door to bang against the wall with an uncaring clunking noise (automatic doors were apparently shunned in this building). As Hackett expected, Raynor Larsen was sitting upright in his desk, his eyebrows only bumping upward in mild surprise, while he was apparently in the middle of a voice call, judging by the wavelength icon on the holo-console. The craggy senator paused mid-sentence and gave Hackett a searing once-over before he gave the slightest turn of his head back to his workstation, never taking his eyes off the admiral.
"We'll have to continue this conversation another time," Larsen replied to the recipient, who would be forever clueless as to why the call had been cut in the first place.
Hackett had never been in Larsen's office before and he was annoyed to find out that the senator had prime real estate in terms of a view. Larsen had a window that looked directly out into the plaza below—meaning that he certainly knew that there was a protest occurring in the streets just meters away—but was soundproofed to keep any excess noise out. The office itself was also remarkably spacious. Clearly Larsen did not feel the need to occupy his office with frivolous items, but Hackett was dismayed to learn that the desk that Larsen was just so happening to use was a perfect copy of the Resolute desk that presidents back in America used in their state office. Somehow, Hackett was not all that surprised at Larsen's show of audacity.
Finished with his call, Larsen leaned forward over his desk, his hands clasped together. "Admiral? A remarkable surprise," he stated, a perpetual grin starting to line his face. "I'm sure that I didn't have you on my agenda for today—my secretary would have reminded me—but I can always make an exception for you."
Larsen's feigned ignorance was already peeving Hackett to no end. Incensed, but still remarkably remaining level-headed, Hackett did not rise to Larsen's bait. Instead, Hackett just activated his omni-tool and rummaged around for a document, which he located and projected in front of Larsen's face.
"Court documents, Senator," Hackett coldly explained. "Filed this morning without much fanfare. Completely under the radar. They've been signed by you. 'Indictment: The Grand Jury for the Systems Alliance charges the following individual, Jonathan Ryan Shepard, with the following: two counts to commit an offence against the Systems Alliance, one count of conspiracy to commit an offence against the Systems Alliance—"
"I'm fully aware of what I wrote, Admiral," Larsen interrupted, his smirk never wavering. "I don't need you to read it all back to me when I was responsible for every single word in that document."
"Every word in a thirty page indictment?" Hackett pressed.
"The court prefers the charging party to be thorough in their investigation."
Beside himself, it took all of Hackett's strength to not launch into a string of expletives. "You… partisan hack."
"Careful, Admiral," Larsen hissed. "Associating yourself with Shepard is not going to help you in the long run. Nor is antagonizing me."
"Can you explain to me what else this looks like? In just a single stroke, without waiting for the entire senate to corroborate your plan, you've just charged the biggest hero in the galaxy of treason. I'm having trouble figuring out if you have some sort of master plan or if this is just plain stupidity on your part."
"This is all about justice," Larsen said as he stood from his desk, matching Hackett's height. Larsen was a tall man, able to back up his words with quite the significant backbone. "That's all this has ever been about. I'm not at all happy that I've had to do this either, Hackett, but I haven't been left any other choice."
"Admiral will do," Hackett said stiffly. "Do not ever again address me as 'Hackett.'"
Larsen frowned and for a moment it looked like he was going to openly defy Hackett's request, but at the last moment, he backed down and shrugged.
"Look, Admiral, this is a very strange time for all of us. I just want to do my job, same as you, and like any other bureaucracy, I keep getting stonewalled in my investigations by people with their own agendas. Senators, councilors, representatives, generals, the fucking prime minister. This government, the Alliance, is so siloed with its information that keeping everybody on the same page is practically an impossibility. We all have our ulterior motives, Admiral, and the very nature of politics can hide our true intent. Therein, what may seem like a preposterous charge is a last-ditch effort for solidarity. For closure. But should I be chastised simply for trying to set the record straight? I only want Shepard to recount exactly what he witnessed during the events of the Reaper War, is all. Without his testimony, how can the public ever expect to receive any closure?"
Hackett snorted. "This is not about the public, Senator, nor is this any sort of fancy crusade between you and the inefficiencies of the government. Don't try to persuade me otherwise. The charge of treason is proof of your blindness in the matter. We both know that you have a vendetta against Shepard because your failure to depose him all those years ago stunted your political growth. In retaliation, you're simply seizing the opportunity to treat Shepard like a common criminal—strike that, you're associating him with all of the turncoats that have been vilified over the centuries. You're equating Shepard with Benedict Arnold, for god's sake."
Larsen's sneer had drooped lower and lower as Hackett spoke. Finally, he seemed to have enough of Hackett's pointed remarks and turned away to the window, ignoring the aspects laid out by his verbal opponent. He gazed outside, lazily flitting his eyes across the sea of multicultural people flooding the streets and the sidewalks, fluttering their banners high as they churned against one another, feeding off of the vibrant energy from their actions. Giving a disgusted sigh, Larsen folded his hands behind his back.
"You saw the crowd on your way in, Admiral?" Larsen did not bother turning away from the window.
"They were rather hard to miss," Hackett said.
"Look at them all. Protesting a cause that they don't understand. They're so assured that they're on the right side of history, pushing back against a decision that their government made. They think that they're taking the moral high ground by rejecting our choice to outsource our military to separate contractors. All they see are the bad headlines that paint the contractors, like Chimera, in a bad light. An innocent killed here, a destroyed hospital there. The media latches onto bad news like vultures to carrion. Do they not understand that's how the news cycle works? It's easier to sell a tragedy than a success."
"Yet said contractors have been proven that they have the unfortunate tendency to create bad news at an alarming rate," Hackett countered. "Perhaps the public is simply tired of companies like Chimera painting them in a bad light. Maybe they don't want Chimera becoming more and more of a representative of their culture."
To his credit, Larsen gave a knowing nod. "While it's true that the contractors' methods have involved a whole lot more collateral damage than anticipated, no one seems to realize the necessity of their appointment. The contractors fill in the gaps where our actual military is faltering. They provide jobs for the citizens. They assure protection and order in areas of lawlessness. The government also saves millions of credits in expenditures simply by outsourcing its operations to the contractors! Fiscal responsibility and a growing job market! Right there! The public should be grateful and yet… as you can see, they're unhappy. They just cannot see the entire picture here." Larsen finally turned around to look Hackett in the eye again. "I'm trying to make sure that, with Shepard, everyone will get the full story and not be blinded by what the media chooses to report. I'm not letting bias get in the way of the facts."
Hackett's mouth formed a cold smile as he idly brushed his hand over Larsen's faux-Resolute desk. "By besmirching Shepard's name in the process."
"Oh, I know that history will be kind to Shepard down the road. His legacy is in no danger, even if he were to tell me all he knows."
"But could you be trusted to be impartial to Shepard's account?" Hackett retorted. "You have an unfortunate record in the senate of releasing ill-timed reports that omit key details in order to benefit yourself and your political party. You have a history of filtering the truth in exchange for political gain. So, I ask you, why should I be trusting you to handle Shepard fairly?"
The sinister glint fled Larsen's eyes but the arrogant smirk remained. Hackett did not know it was even possible for any more coldness to be imbued into Larsen's expression, but the proof was right in front of his own eyes. Hackett recalled that former associates of Larsen had said that the senator had ice water for blood. It seems that was not an exaggeration.
"You're going back in time there, Admiral," Larsen said carefully. "I'd wager a bit too far. The public has a short memory and anything outside of their regular news cycle gets relegated to a black hole in their recollection. Besides, Shepard's resulting trial will be of interest for every side of the political spectrum. There won't be any chance for anyone to… filter out anything that could possibly be damaging. With such scrutiny, there's no point in trying to stifle anything down."
"Because you somehow think that the entire story can absolve you of your methods to carry out your crusade?"
Now Larsen pointed up to the sky, his arm shaking with a perceptible rage. A feral look came in a glimpse across the man's expression, twisting his face into a fearsome grimace. "Admiral, I know that the government has not been fed the entire story of what happened during the war. There are simply too many gaps in the narrative for us to accept. I know that those gaps contain information that has the potential to cause quite a lot of discomfort to the other alien races… and I know that Shepard was privy to that information. If we can't provide the citizens with the correct information, then we're only opening the door to chaos down the line. Muted whisperings in the hall, right down to the damned conspiracy theorists making up bogus shit. Do you really want the airwaves to be flooded with that kind of crap? The stupidity of the average citizen knows no bounds, Admiral. There is no rock bottom when it comes to how stupid a citizen can seem. Fuck, I can go onto some program right now and make up a story that our government is kidnapping children to be used in some sort of secret super-soldier program, not provide any sources, and people would believe me! When we can't give our citizens answers, lies only fill in the gaps!"
"It is not my prerogative to dictate what information gets released to the public, senator," Hackett said evenly, narrowing his eyes as a brief flash of sunlight was reflected off the window of a passing car.
"Spoken like a true admiral," Larsen said mockingly. "All you can see is the military angle. I have to deal with the people day in and day out. My people! Humans! What right does Shepard have to allow the narrative to be filtered?! Why does he get to stay silent?"
"You had a chance to ask him. He refused."
Larsen slapped a hand firmly onto his desk, making a hollow sound. "He did not refuse, he left! He turned tail at the very sign that what he knew could damage the so-called reputation of the other alien races. He protected them against us! Don't tell me that you don't feel the same anger I do. If that's true, then you're just as morally compromised as the people that damned Earth from the very beginning."
Hackett had the absurd idea that Larsen was suddenly going to start flying at him with fists raised. Even considering the man's age, Hackett's tactical mind had to allow for the fact that Larsen was quite the skilled brawler and would not kowtow in the face of extreme pain.
Larsen's like a boxer, one aide had mentioned to Hackett in the past. But he never tires. Never gives an opening. You either have to stand your ground and weather the storm or be beaten into submission.
Hackett took a breath to prevent himself from making a facial tell that Larsen could exploit. "If you are truly concerned about my convictions, Senator, then I'm sorry that you have such misgivings. What I can say is that if I had any frustrations towards the other Council races, then it would be prudent of me to shed those as soon as possible because it would not be wise for us to instigate more conflict, especially our allies."
Larsen rolled his eyes. "Allies. Admiral, our 'allies' took their time in posturing and negotiating, trying to cut backdoor deals with Shepard acting as our representative. Our unassigned representative. Just because Shepard was a Spectre, he did not have the authority to be making military deals on our behalf. Someone gave him that power with no consideration to the legislative process. And despite Shepard supposedly succeeding in his objective of uniting our allies, it took too long in the end. When did the full support from the turians, asari, krogan, or any of the other races arrive? Not until the final days of the war. While billions of civilians were being slaughtered on this planet, each race was selfishly looking after their own interests, conserving their resources but not devoting any support to us, an ally, until their own problems were slightly mitigated. The whole idea of there being a galactic 'Council' was conveniently cast aside. The rescue of Earth was delayed time and again, costing humanity so many lives."
"Some might say the cost was worth it, Senator," Hackett said in an even tone. "We won the war."
"No, we won a war. You should know from humanity's history, Admiral, that there will always be another war. It's about as predictable as the sun rising every morning. Conflict has been the cornerstone of humanity's existence even before we as a species learned to walk. It's not something that can be ironed out of us. The Reaper War, while devastating, will not quell our desire for conflict. To think that we will just cast aside all our weapons and make peace with everyone is a fantasy. Naiveté on our part. A pipe dream conjured by the bleeding heart socialists."
"It is not our responsibility to remain latched onto the past—"
"Bah!" Larsen waved a hand dismissively as he walked back over to his desk. "Humans have always been obsessed with trying to relieve our glory days. Glory days. We even have a name for it. We're expected to build a monument as a testament to sacrifices made in the past and just move on. Headstones and columns. Everything we do is to remind us of our past, of the days gone by. That's how we learn, Admiral. That's why we're here now."
"Then what does Shepard have to do with all this talk of monuments and headstones?" a faintly irked Hackett asked. "Surely you don't plan to have the man executed?"
Larsen shook his head. "Death is not a fitting punishment for that man. No, even if he doesn't cooperate with my investigation, he will probably get off lightly. But he will cooperate."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because Shepard is amenable to logic," Larsen faintly smiled while the traffic now began to move at a steady pace behind him. "He knows just as well as I do that uniting with the aliens has only hampered humanity's ascension. We're part of the Council, we pay our contributions to that Council, we extend our resources between agencies, and all we expect in return is the same treatment. Are we not entitled to loyalty amongst our peers? Yet when humanity was attacked, everyone else just sat on their haunches and blathered excuses. Everyone folded like a cheap suit. All of the resources and support we were promised dried up in a flash. Surely Shepard had to have felt some anger when trying to bludgeon his way through the political process."
Now Hackett finally allowed himself to laugh, which was made all the more pleasurable by Larsen's darkening expression. So he was irking the senator. Good. It was about time that Larsen felt a little frustration.
"If that's what you believe," Hackett chuckled, "then you really don't know Shepard at all. That man will not blow everything up with the Council just because you have a score to settle. And, least of all, he will not submit himself to you."
"Regardless," Larsen pressed, "I have a feeling that Shepard will comply with my request because he has a skewed sense of honor. He will be compelled to clear his name now that I'm dragging it through the mud and so he will arrive here to give his account of what happened between him and the politicians. It might not be today, nor tomorrow, but I'll have him in the Reichstag soon enough to spill his guts."
Something did not feel right to Hackett, almost as if there was a discernable chill in the air and no matter how many layers he had on, he could not dispel it.
"So Shepard is not your end goal, then," Hackett deduced. "But why have him go through this whole song and dance if you're going to eventually cast him aside?"
Larsen said nothing at first but he instead opened up his omni-tool and withdrew an official-looking document, mirroring Hackett's actions at the beginning of their conversation. The orange glow emanating off the file lit Larsen's face up, casting shadows through the valleyed wrinkles of his aged face.
Hackett stared at the file but the print was too small for him to read at this distance. He sure was not going to give Larsen the satisfaction by having him bend over and squint to read the fine print, so his just narrowed his eyes and waited for the senator to give his explanation.
When Larsen continued to stay silent, Hackett finally gestured to the document with a sigh. "And this is?"
"Admiral, you and I know that a contract whose terms have been broken is no longer a contract at all. The other Council races have bent the laws with impunity by their refusal to lend us aid when the Reapers landed on our planet. It was only by negotiating with the direct leadership that we were able to obtain results. The Council, Admiral, is nothing but a body without substance. A collective straw man. Hypocrisy and partisanship are far more rife in that misguided body than what we face in the Senate, despite your perceptions, Admiral. Whenever humanity has bent or broken Council law, we've been censured without fail. But if the asari break the law, they merely get a slap on the wrist. We have been subjugated to this unfair treatment ever since we stumbled onto the galactic scene. We've only been offered a place on the Council because the other races fear us, fear what we as a species can do. Perhaps we can finally show them our spirit, our might. Maybe it's time we take things into our own hands, for once."
Hackett did not like where this was going and he felt his pulse start to accelerate. "What exactly are you proposing, Senator?"
Larsen's grin was broad as he filed the document away, causing it to disappear in to thin air, no longer separating the two of them. "I'm giving humanity the opportunity to choose its own fate rather than be responsible for uplifting everyone else. This is the first of three bills that I intend to submit to the Senate, along with Shepard's testimony. The CAHMF-1 Bill, or the Council Apostatizing of Human Military Forces Bill, is my proposal that humanity withdraws all military support to the Council, giving ourselves a five-year deadline to carry such a deed out, unless we have assurances from the Council that we will be allowed to enter talks to modify our membership terms."
Hackett nearly slammed his fists on the desk, momentarily thrown by the revelation.
"That is outrageous! Such a bill would never—"
Larsen held up a finger and made a clucking noise with his tongue. "You'd be surprised as to what the people who actually run your government think, Admiral. I've actually passed on and hypothesized the broad strokes of the CAHMF bill with all my colleagues, and they're all for the idea. So, seeing as we're the majority party in the Senate, this bill is most likely going to pass, should we put it to the floor for a vote."
"Madness," Hackett could only say. "You're just undoing all humanity has worked for."
"Yeah, but that was before we learned that having a seat at the table failed to elevate us at all. Now, we're being counted on to act as one of the table's legs. But the interesting about being a table leg is that if you remove one, suddenly everyone is reminded at how important you are to the whole construct. The Council will budge long before we will—they're more inclined to keep us together than we are. They really don't want the table to be overturned."
"Shepard will never go along with you," Hackett nearly spat. "He won't be a part of this. I won't, either."
"Come now, Admiral," Larsen soothed as he held up his hands in a non-threatening position. "Be reasonable. Politics doesn't suit you, I can tell. You're a military man, through and through. You've seen the results of the bureaucracy, you know that my idea has some truth to it. I could use a man like you on my side. If you want to make sure that all of humanity's efforts to get where it is was not in vain, you'll support me on this. Endorse this bill and I can promise you that good things will happen to you down the line."
Hackett had managed to control himself enough so that he could put on his stone-faced persona again, as befitting an Alliance Admiral, but even so, he was still thrown by the sheer audacity of the request that Larsen had just bequeathed upon him that he still had to fight to tamper down his reactions. A slow, thoughtful blink escaped his control and he straightened his back in response.
"Could you… repeat that?" Hackett said, even though he had completely heard what Larsen had said.
"Endorse the CAHMF bill," Larsen repeated evenly, noticeably leaning a little more forward now that he had attached his hooks into Hackett. The showman was on display now, reveling in the fact that he was not having to keep his secrets locked down anymore. If anything, he was enjoying the reactions he was getting out of Hackett.
Then again, he had to have known the eventual response that Hackett was going to give. In fact, Larsen didn't just know, he fully expected it, right down to the timing.
"I don't think so," was Hackett's curt response.
Larsen's mouth twitched upward in a grim smile, finding himself pleased at the admiral's statement regardless.
"The captain doesn't have to go down with the ship this time, Admiral. I'm giving you a chance to embark on another one before your doomed vessel sets sail."
"All the same, I won't support it. It's not in my best interest, nor that of any of the branches of the military, for me to support any bill on the table. But the very principle of what your bill represents is enough for me to walk away from it quite easily. Besides, Senator, no offense but you're not the sort of person I'd throw my hat in with. We're too disparate of individuals and the company you keep, particularly Erich Koenig, would just lay scrutiny upon me and my decisions. That's not a risk I'm willing to take."
Underneath his desk, Larsen's hands clenched into fists hard enough to crack bone, but they quickly loosened as the man brought his temper under control.
"Understandable," Larsen adjusted his collar with a jovial grin. "I would anticipate that an admiral lending his endorsement to a bill would be quite the breach in protocol anyway. It's not really seen as proper when you have military commanders getting so heavily involved in politics. Not really your responsibility, I would assume."
"I don't understand. Then why offer me the chance to endorse the bill?"
"Why? I guess I wanted to have an idea where you truly stand. Now I know for sure. That's all."
Alarm bells were ringing in Hackett's head on full blast. Not only was he perturbed by this stance of isolationism that Larsen was exuding, he was worried that this sort of behavior was being projected by a senior member in the senate. Larsen had the uncanny knack to be able to influence his subordinates in order for them to rally behind the positions he took. If this was the route that Larsen was intent on taking, then this CAHMF bill was going to have some serious legs by the time it would be put to a vote. Such a radical move, if successfully pulled off, would give Larsen major political credibility in the future. He could even use it to springboard a run at the prime minister, should he so desire.
A run for prime minister…
Could the end goal be that simple?
There had to be more to it than that, Hackett figured, but now Larsen was adjusting the cuffs of his carefully tailored jacket in such a way that Hackett assumed that their conversation was rapidly coming to a close. And not a moment too soon.
Upholding the time-honored tradition of ending a meeting respectfully, Larsen held out his hand for Hackett to shake. Hackett took the offered hand warily, keeping his expression neutral the whole time.
His mind was spinning up several different plans for him to take after he was done here. Obviously he could not take up a public position for or against the CAHMF bill, given his rank, but if he were to tip someone off, to make a comment under a pseudonym, then perhaps enough public interest could be drummed up against the bill in order to kill it before it could be voted upon. Hackett had enough faith in the public that they would not stand for the position that Larsen was taking, if the protest outside was any indication. The only problem now was that he was going to have to get the word out… somehow.
"Headed back to the fleet, I assume?" Larsen raised an eyebrow, now finished with the handshake.
"That's the plan," Hackett fibbed, his face still betraying no tells. "Shuttle's leaving first thing in the morning down in Grafenwöhr."
If anything, Larsen's smile broadened.
"You really should visit Berlin in the spring. It's much warmer around then, more conducive for men of our age."
"That will all depend on my schedule, Senator." If Hackett was ever going to return to the city, it certainly would not be on Larsen's behalf.
"We are all bound by our duties, Admiral," Larsen made a gracious gesture as he led Hackett to the door. This was the warm, genial Larsen, a version of Larsen that gave Hackett a distinct feeling of unease. "Enjoy the rest of your visit."
Hackett almost considered making a slightly biting comment, but held his tongue at the last second, choosing instead to walk smartly out of Larsen's office, keeping his gaze straight ahead and not looking behind him to give the senator any satisfaction.
As soon as Hackett disappeared from Larsen's view, the warm exterior of his face fizzled away back to his cold mask, and he shut and locked the door, counting on the soundproof seal to work its magic. He headed around his desk and typed in a code for a contact on his tool simultaneously, sitting himself down while the call began to connect.
Larsen did not have to wait long, because the recipient connected before the first ring could finish.
"Awaiting your command, sir," the brusque and mechanical voice of the Legionnaire uttered.
"Give me your location," Larsen said as he focused on his fingernails rather than the caller display.
"Currently in the Sol system, per your instructions. Am I to be resuming my pursuit of the wayward Shepard, sir?"
"No," Larsen sharply whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Not yet. I've got something else I need you to do first."
Rannoch
Just a few more steps further. Three more seconds and he would be there.
Shepard slowed his gait down dramatically as he neared the middle of the outcropping, nearly finding himself overcome by emotion. The day was hot and the sun was bright, brilliant against a cloudless sky. Shepard had to blink away the perspiration that beaded near his eyes, finding that they just added to his anticipation.
But he was finally there. Relieved, Shepard knelt down, just feet away from the edge of the cliff. He sighed out loud in the open air, unheard to anyone else except himself. He rubbed a bare hand into the ground, letting the soil sift through his fingers before he released his grip, letting the dust fly lazily into the air as it was caught by the ocean currents.
The stone outcropping that Shepard was perched upon jutted several meters from the main cliff wall. A precarious situation otherwise, but the actual outcropping was supported by a weathered pillar that ran down to the ground, where the sea lapped against the rocks. Shepard was by a secluded bay where the water was not so rough. He was about thirty meters above where the ocean churned, the tall rock formations providing an ample shield from the wind.
It had almost been thirteen years since he had last set foot here, but Shepard could never forget this site. If he looked over to his left ever so slightly, he could see a slightly barren plain that still bore heavy gouges in the dirt and blast marks in the rock. A Reaper had died there years ago, pummeled into submission by a salvo courtesy of an orbital bombardment.
Shepard knew this, because he was the one who killed the Reaper in the first place.
Why, just a few kilometers away, Shepard could see the metallic stacks of the geth foundry off in the distance, behind a flat mesa. That had been the site of a brutal assault, a place that Shepard had cut his way through as part of his mission to liberate Rannoch. He had pushed his way through dozens of geth troopers, desperate pawns of the Reapers that had hurled their bodies at him in a last-ditch effort to prevent the human from completing his mission. In the end, the Reapers had failed here… and Shepard had gained a whole lot more than he could have imagined.
"Shopping for another house?" he heard himself ask. Shepard internally groaned as he let the foaming sea of memory swallow him whole once more.
"Beachfront property," Tali said smugly as she sat down beside him on the outcropping. Both of their legs were similarly dangling off the edge as they sat tantalizingly close, less than a foot apart. Their hands clasped the ground, gently nudging toward each other's.
"Claim it fast," Shepard grinned, referring to the land. "It's a buyer's market."
Tali chuckled at that and lifted her head up to watch the evening sky.
The two of them were still breathing hard after the events of the day. Just minutes ago they had both been shouting their lungs out at the stubborn admirals in orbit above them, the ones who had been so determined to wipe out the geth in their perceived moment of weakness, not knowing that to do so would have spelled their doom for good. Shepard and Tali had narrowly averted disaster by talking down the warmongering Admiral Gerrel and now, with the pulse-pounding stressors dealt with, everyone could now wind down and crash as the adrenaline left their systems.
Both Shepard and Tali looked harried and worn out, but they were both smiling. Shepard was a bit more torn up than the quarian woman—blood was still trickling from a head wound and he was nursing a few second-degree burns from narrowly missing the brunt of the Reaper's laser. That was not to say that Tali was uninjured. Parts of her suit was scorched and she had received a nasty blow from a geth half an hour ago that she surmised had resulted in a fractured wrist, but those were wounds she could shrug off in time.
The still smoking corpse of the Reaper, thickly gray, sparking with red electricity, painted an odd setting. The robotic leviathan, over a hundred meters in height, still groaned as the weight of it settled further onto the dusty ground. Shepard and Tali ignored the sight, choosing instead to bask in the natural beauty of the planet, having tired of being forced to look at nothing but wanton destruction for the last few months.
But Shepard did take several long glances at the woman next to him, something that Tali clearly noticed but enjoyed all the same.
"You doing all right?" Shepard finally asked, his face lined with concern, a stray breeze cooling him.
Tali did not answer right away. "Just taking it all in," she murmured.
"I understand," Shepard nodded. "Tali, if you need some time—"
"No, I don't," Tali said quickly as she grabbed for Shepard's hand, anchoring him in place. "Please, stay with me here. Just a little longer."
Shepard felt the warm enviro-suit in his hand and he tightened his grip ever so slightly. There was desperation in her eyes. A fierce longing. A fire in his brain quelled instantly, so many peaceful connotations washed over him like a gentle wave. Something in his heart was telling him to not let go of her at all costs. That this moment must be seized!
"So…" he started, "…what's going to happen to us now?"
It sounded even more pathetic when the words were said out loud and Shepard cursed himself for even uttering them. After what Tali had said to him just minutes ago… why would he be so callous?
"Now?" Tali blinked behind her purple visor. "Nothing's going to change, because I'm not staying on Rannoch, John. I'm coming with you."
The jolt he gave must have been noticeable to Tali because she could feel his reaction through their link in their hands. Something was singing inside Shepard's chest and he cracked a smile, causing the blood that had crusted around the corners of his mouth to crumble away.
"I wasn't going to ask you to come, you know," he said almost sheepishly.
"Why not?" Tali sounded slightly hurt.
The answer seemed obvious to Shepard and he was a bit struck by Tali's reaction.
"Why not? It's because I respect you, damn it. I'm not about to guilt you into coming along with me if that's not really what you want."
"But it is what I want," Tali pressed as she scooted closer to Shepard. "I guess my question is… is that what you want, John?"
John. No one but his mother ever called him that. To everyone else, he was either "Shepard" or "Commander." He disliked the allowance of having other people refer to him by his first name.
But when Tali said it… for some reason, it felt like he was home. The word just felt right, coming from her mouth.
"Tali…" Shepard sighed as he hung his head, trying to focus on the waves below.
"Is it?"
The human ruffled himself in preparation. "Of course it's what I want," he said decisively, almost as if he was taking offense to the question, but of course, he could not do that to her. "Why wouldn't I want you to come with me? If I was a more insensitive man, I would ask you. I just care about you too much to take advantage of you like that. Actually, screw 'caring.' I love you, Tali'Zorah."
Both the human's and the quarian's eyes widened in a pleasant sort of shock. Tali's mouth became dry and her grip slackened a bit. Shepard's breathing hitched and his heartrate skyrocketed to the moon in response.
Tali managed a very light, very breathy, laugh, her smile most likely the biggest it had ever been behind her visor. "Did you think that I could possibly stay behind now? I've waited so long for you to say that to me, you know."
"Well," Shepard muttered as he sheepishly scratched at the back of his scalp, "you said it first." His eyes trailed upward impishly, glinting mischievously and knowingly.
"I meant every word."
"As did I."
As the two fell silent, the crackling of the cooking Reaper became their serenade for the evening, joining in with the instrument of the sea to concoct a soothing soundtrack to lull themselves to. Their hands still clasped together, Tali adjusted herself so that she was leaning against her lover, her helmet lightly resting upon Shepard's shoulder. The two of them made peaceful sounds as they basked in the sunset, finding relief as they would live to see a new day upon the horizon.
For Tali, she had more than she knew what to do with. It was better than she ever could have hoped.
"This was where it happened?" a younger voice burst through the memory, ripping the strands of time apart to bring Shepard back to the present.
With a slow blink, Shepard inhaled. He turned, finding Roahn standing a few feet away, tentatively inching forward on the outcropping. She was looking out towards the gouged-out valley, trying to imagine the march of the death machine that had invaded the planet, visualizing in her head the white-hot column of red death that spewed from the oculi of the Reaper while her father dodged every blow in a deadly dance. It seemed almost fantastical for her to dream, yet it had happened, as hard as it was to believe.
"Just right there," Shepard pointed as Roahn walked over by him. "That was where the Reaper was killed."
Roahn squinted as she leaned over, as if the very act could help her picture the moment in her head. She then noticed that her father was staring quite intently at a space upon the ground in front of them, like the very direction of his eyes could bore a thin laser through the stone if he could just focus ever so slightly.
"What is it, dad?" Roahn breathed haltingly.
Shepard patted the ground respectfully. "Remembering, Roahn. Just the final spot where an ally—a friend—stood of his own accord. A geth. Legion. You might have heard of him."
Roahn had indeed heard of Legion. Every child on Rannoch had heard the accounts of the geth who allied himself with the quarians, fighting alongside her father against the Reapers. Legion, the geth who had selflessly sacrificed himself to disseminate his evolved personality to all geth. The geth revolt on Rannoch had been quelled instantly due to Legion's subsequent death, all because he had discovered what it truly meant to be alive, a fact that the quarians had never been able to figure out in all their years of research.
Legion had been a walking contradiction of everything the quarians had figured the geth to be. He had not been an emotionless murder-bot. He had exhibited a keen and precise logic that was limited, but understandable, not to mention sympathetic. Legion had quickly embraced the idea of partnering with organics in the face of a greater threat, knowing that the geth had a greater probability of survival if they acted together. Not to mention, locked within the collective consciousness of the geth were all of the unaltered memories of how the first Morning War came to be, bucking three centuries of suppositions, rocking all quarians with such a devastating revelation.
All ancient history now, destined to reside in scholarly texts. Much of what Legion represented was to be gleaned from his involvement in the war, but perhaps no one could understand the simplicity of the stance that Legion symbolized, that three centuries of animosity had been fabricated all because of single decision that had invited catastrophe unto the quarians. A decision that could have been easily avoided.
"What was it like, working with Legion?" Roahn asked.
Shepard took a moment to compose his thoughts, quite keen of Roahn's age and how impressionable she was. Her generation was the first to see the geth not as demons, but as creatures with consciousness. A warning to the children not to repeat their ancestors' mistakes.
"It was… different," Shepard mused as he raised his head up to the starry sky. "Odd at first. Certainly not at all familiar. Legion, until just before he died, had a peculiar pattern of speech. He always referred to himself as 'we,' because he never thought of himself as a singular person. He saw himself as a collection of programs inhabiting one platform. That was where the multitudinous aspect came in. He never acted just for himself, but for all geth. It was a unique mindset that we all had to adjust to. Certainly a wake-up call for me—every geth I'd met before Legion were all shooting at me."
"It wasn't scary, talking to him?"
"Not really. Your mom was a little freaked out at first, understandably, but she soon learned to live with Legion being close by. It certainly wasn't easy to get used to him, that's for sure. The tone of his voice barely wavered, and it was always in this calm and deliberate manner. Soothing… but unnerving at the same time." Shepard crumpled his hands together as he continued to stare at the spot on the ground before him. "I catch myself often thinking of him. What he did for his people and why. He sacrificed himself to save his entire race. To save them from the Reapers… and the quarians who misunderstood them."
And I killed them all anyway, knowing that, Shepard thought, keeping his hands so tightly clasped that they were shaking.
The guilt was returning, eager to feed upon him. That dissolving bile, tearing him apart from within. Lungs turned to ash. Fire brewing in the belly. A storm clouding in the brain.
If Legion could somehow render judgment once more, Shepard knew that he would find nothing but sorrow and betrayal reflected in the geth. He had violated Legion's trust. He had forsaken all of the geth's hopes when he had made his final choice twelve years ago.
The very thought made Shepard sick to his stomach.
"How did you do it?"
Shepard's next inhalation felt like he was swallowing ice water down his throat. He shivered in the sudden chill before facing his daughter, her last few words echoing hollowly above him.
"What was that, Roahn?"
"The Reaper. The one you faced right here," Roahn said, pointing at the site again for good measure. "How did you kill it? I can't imagine how anyone could tackle such a demon like that."
"It certainly wasn't easy," Shepard thoughtfully replied as he sat himself down on the edge of the cliff, his legs now dangling into thin air, just as he did with Tali a long time ago. "I used a repurposed targeting laser that was synced to the entirety of the quarian fleet above," Shepard jabbed a finger up towards the stars through the purplish haze of the sky. "Called in several danger close strikes to bring it down."
It would be inconceivable to anyone else, but in that moment, Roahn had the barest glimpse of a plain on fire, dirt rising in solid plumes as the screech of a warlike monstrosity echoed through the desert, the whoosh of orbital strikes screaming through the air as they plummeted to the planet. Roahn's eardrums shook in response and she shivered in awe.
"Where did they take the Reaper?" she asked as she too joined her father on the cliff's edge.
Shepard shrugged. "I honestly don't know, Roahn. Some say that all the Reapers were taken apart after the war and shot into deep space. Others say that what remained of the Reapers were all moved to a black hole for them to be pulled out of existence. I just don't have an answer for you there."
"But why you?"
Shepard, confused, glanced at his daughter for clarification, unsure of how to respond to that.
Roahn imperceptibly jittered as she tried to search for the right words to say. "Why was it you, I mean? Rannoch wasn't your home. As… as a human, this wasn't your fight. What made you decide that you were going to lead the charge, to save the quarians?"
What Roahn found in Shepard's eyes was something wistful, a transcendent spark of reminiscence, before it grew into a glimmer of knowing, rife with strong emotions.
"My tendency to get involved with fights that weren't my own finally came to a head, I suppose," Shepard tenderly rubbed at his beard. "I just felt… indebted to fight."
When Shepard saw that that answer would not suffice for Roahn, he continued to explain. "Before I was in a relationship with your mother, she received a notice one day, when she was serving under me, that her people were going to put her under trial for treason."
"What?!" Roahn jumped. "Treason? Mom?! That's ridiculous!"
"That's about what I said when I found out," the human nodded in agreement. "But I believe I used ruder words to describe the situation at the time."
Roahn fumbled, her brain probably aching from the slew of information she just received. To think of her mother… sweet, wonderful Tali… being charged with such a crime, she would have assumed her father was pulling her leg.
But she remembered that her father did not make jokes, if at all.
"Why was she being accused of treason?! She… she didn't do anything of the sort… right?"
Shepard, fully aware that every single minutia of his reactions was being observed, gave a knowing look and tenderly patted Roahn's back in assurance, successfully calming her (though Shepard did not know the extent of how well his actions soothed his daughter). "Of course not. Your mother loved her people too much to even consider committing treason against them. According to the charge, she was accused of sending geth parts back to the fleet that were dangerous and still capable of being reactivated. Her former posting, before she rejoined my crew, was solely responsible for the procurement of geth technology to send back to the fleet. But Tali was very thorough. She made sure to check every single part that she sent to the fleet, to her father—your grandfather: Rael'Zorah."
"Grandfather…" Roahn murmured. Rael had not been talked about much in her household, even when Tali had been alive. Shepard had never met the man in person before and Tali never liked speaking of him. Rael was just as much of a stranger to Roahn as he was to her own father.
"Supposedly, according to the Admiralty Board at least, the parts that Tali sent back had reactivated and had resulted in an entire frigate's crew being killed," Shepard said. "To prove your mother's innocence, I accompanied her over to the stricken frigate, to find any shred of proof that could exonerate her."
"Did you find any?"
"Oh yes," Shepard nodded. "The security cameras caught every conversation on the ship. Just as she claimed, Tali had never sent over any dangerous pieces to Rael. Rael was, in fact, deliberately reactivating the geth units so that he could make faster headway on his research. Arrogant of him. By bypassing the safety firewalls, Rael should have known that he was openly courting with disaster. His choice only cost him his life and nearly got his daughter exiled. He was willing to destroy his family to get his homeworld back in a twisted act of love. He was willing to sacrifice anything other than himself to reach his goal—but that was where he failed, Roahn. In the end, Rael would have received his homeworld anyway, with or without his involvement, because he would get to see what a true sacrifice meant. He would have seen Legion, a geth, sacrifice only himself for his people. In a sense, a geth was far braver than what Rael could ever muster."
Roahn's hands scraped against the dusty rock, smearing her palms with the brown coating. "But how does this relate to why you felt you had to fight for the quarians?"
"I'm getting to that. You see, I was defending your mother in her stead during her trial. As her captain, I had the right to act as her defense. I had to throw myself further into quarian culture to determine the entire scope and intent of the trial. It was an arduous task, but I eventually managed to talk all the admirals down into pardoning Tali while simultaneously hiding Rael's activities from them so that he would not be posthumously exiled."
For some reason, the image of her father acting as a lawyer de facto was somewhat hilarious for Roahn to visualize. "How did you even do that?"
"Honestly? I yelled at them a bunch. Called them morons to their face."
Roahn could not help the laugh that bubbled out of her throat, simultaneously awed and horrified. Now she wished that a recording of this wondrous event still existed, because she had to see the evidence of her father shouting at the Admiralty Board in a fit of passion.
"And that worked?"
Shepard craned his neck in all directions before he made a tiny nod, a teasing grin lingering on his face for good measure. "Worked well enough for the both of us, Tali and me. I managed to keep Tali's name clean… and we became more than friends after that, you see? I had so much of my life anchoring me to the quarian people that I could not stand back and watch when they were taking their planet back later on. I had to help. I had to fight the Reaper. I had to give Tali a home, all because I loved her. And when you're in love, Roahn, you can make sense out of the craziest things. That's all it is. Love is simply another form of insanity."
Shepard quieted, not being able to think of anything else to say. Instead, he relegated himself to staring up at the sky, watching the puffy clouds slowly march upon their ponderous trails miles above them. It was as if the very act of explaining his past to Roahn had taken its toll upon him physically. He felt tired, drained, exhausted. His bronzed skin, garnered from spending years out under the sun, felt itchy, like there was a constant burn upon him. There was still a sour taste in his mouth, a lingering sense of dread taunting him of the fact that he still had yet to tell Roahn everything.
In due time, he told himself. In due time.
Beside Shepard, Roahn could only stare up at the man she called her father. There was a distinct tightness in her throat that had been constricting further and further as time had gone on between them. Rael. Tali's trial. Legion. All things that even Tali had not talked with Roahn about. Such a gush of knowledge—she felt like she was drowning.
And the only preserver she could cling to, was her father.
Love is insanity, Roahn dimly recalled as she, after some hesitation, ceased flirting in her indecision before she allowed herself to lean against Shepard's side, feeling grateful for the mountainous support her father gave as they watched the sun set over the bay, the glow palpable even through her suit.
Shepard did not move as his exhausted daughter rested against him, except for a long look he gave her as he watched Roahn struggle to ward off her fatigue. The girl was so tired. She had been awake for more than a solar day. No wonder she was starting to crash right here and now. Simply watching Roahn fall more and more into sleep produced a slew of relaxing chemicals in his body. Sitting right here, he could forget about the agony of yesterday. He could forget about the pain that had been following him for years. He could forget—
Suddenly, without warning, his head cleared. The sea of thought smoothened out. It felt like he had been doused with a bucket of cold water, bringing clarity to his senses. In shock, Shepard nearly forgot to breathe.
His sinuses opened up, his lungs swelling with oxygen. Flavor burst onto his tongue. His eyes flashed with vivid color.
The pain was gone.
This… what was this? This… peace. No, it couldn't be. Sitting here like this, grasping at memories long past. This was a fantasy. He had not felt this way with anyone else. Not since…
In disbelief, Shepard beheld his daughter, still leaned over onto his side. Something groped at his mind, tugging at dangling strands previously shorn by loss, desperate to be connected and whole once more. His hand faintly twitched, a mechanism in his muscle striving to take his daughter's hand and encase it, protect it. Protect her. To be there for her after all this time. Perhaps it was truly his destiny, his right.
"Tali…" the faintest breath escaped him, only for the wind to steal it away.
Not noticing the conundrum tormenting her father, Roahn's eyes finally drooped as she, still resting against Shepard, gave a quiet yawn before the blackness of sleep overtook her. But not before one final thought speared through her mind.
Love is insanity. What are you trying to tell me, dad?
A/N: Speculation, speculation. Just what I like to instill.
Playlist:
Sparring with Larsen: "Hammer" by Cliff Martinez from the film Drive
Tali, Roahn, and the Reaper (Family Theme III): "Mount Fuji" by Hans Zimmer, Bryce Jacobs, and Martin Tillman from the film Rush